Beauty. What a...transitive concept. This was pulled abruptly to the front of my mind by two events that have happened recently. The first is pretty straightforward and begins awhile back. Sometime before In Service Training, in those first three months, I went to Santa Cruz in my pajamas. I had woken up late, it was really hot and honestly, my pjs are gym shorts and a tee shirt. So I put on my flip flops and got on the bus just in time to make it to our nearest city center. If I remember correctly, all I needed was dog food. That is to say, I wasn't going to hit up a grocery store or a restaurant looking like a scrub gringuita. I still may have gotten ice cream, though...not sure.
Well, I didn't realize that this was a big deal until some other volunteers came to visit my site. These are my two best girlfriends here and as usual when talking to my friends, I forget how we broached the subject, but I told them about this day that I went in to town with gym shorts. Their reaction seriously made me reconsider whether I would ever leave my house in gym shorts again, even just to eat breakfast at my host mom's house. Now, in my defense, one of the girls lived in Brasil and the other is Latina. But regardless of what a girl's background is...yeah. It was a mistake for me to go out in public like that. Let me tell you why.
For some reason, even though I am living in the dust or mud capital of the world depending on what day it is, women in rural Costa Rica get done up to go anywhere. This is in stark contrast to the housework mode...I've swept and mopped alongside my host sister, both of us in tee shirts that are falling apart or shorts with holes in them and wearing flip flops that are only holding together after many applications of super glue. Sweating, looking like I'm homeless - this is kind of the norm for me and it doesn't feel out of place on the family compound. But something changes for these ladies when they have to go afuera, out. Or not even out, the best example being my host mom. One morning she was wielding a pick ax because we were moving around some dirt in our front yard in an attempt to make the ground flatter. In the afternoon of the same day, we had a procession for the Virgin in our town and my word. My host mom who I'd never seen out of a skirt, apron and holey spaghetti strap was suddenly in high-waisted jeans with an orange ruffly blouse tucked in and make up and wedges for chrissake. I think I was wearing jean capris and a tee shirt, maybe I'd put a headband on? All I remember feeling is way way way underdressed compared to all the women around me. It's the same when a woman leaves to go to Santa Cruz for errands or - the most fancy she'll get - to go out dancing on a weekend.
I would have given up by now. Clearly, I proved that with the shorts-in-the-city brain fart. It amazes me that even though every person in town will frequently see women at their dirtiest, sweatiest worst that the ladies still try. I just don't have the time or energy for stuff like that!
Or do I? Story the second. I was in Santa Cruz for some errands (thank goodness dressed like a real person this time because like I said, I'm never committing the cardinal sin of leaving town looking less than like a princess - that is to say, skinny jeans, a sleeveless blouse that matched my dress sandals and jewelry that all matched) and I saw a salon. And I thought...gee, it has been awhile since I've even looked at my hands. Maybe I'll see how much a manicure is. It wasn't too bad, so I sat down and started to get my nails done. Small tangent: It was SO wonderful, this manicure was definitely atypical for Costa Rica because they did the whole exfoliating bit and the hand massage. Heaven. Anyway, so we get to the part about what color I want my nails and I say, ''French tip, please.'' Tips are done and the muchacha says, ''What design?''
In the olden days (this past January) I was appalled by designs on nails. When I went for a birthday pedicure with my mom and my sister and my sister told the women in the salon that it was my birthday they offered me a free design. And I, wincing, tried to choose the most tasteful thing that I could. Notably incongruous with standards of nail fashion in Costa Rica and, I must say, I have succumbed. Because when the lady asked me, ''What design?'' I got REALLY excited. I asked what colors she had, if she could do flowers, did she have silver for the center of the flowers? Or maybe a series of hearts, all different and bright colors and each outlined in white? I had that on my toes a few months back and it was so much fun to look at every day! Are my nails too small to add in some shimmery green leaves, too?
Watch out, basically. Because I'm going to need a lot of understanding as I transition back into, say, a world that looks down on things that are tacky. In some ways I'm happy that beige and gray are my cultural inheritance - they really do look good. Streamlined, earthy tones...big green light. That is a go, they look nice on me. But I do wonder if I want to completely give up this strange definition of feminine that I am just beginning to explore. Not ready to match my eyeshadow to my shoes, but hmm...I do get a kick out of seeing my floral french tip nails.
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